


And Your Eyes Are the Size of the Moon (you could 'cause you can so you do)

by heartshapedcandy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Carnival, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 08:18:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3480998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartshapedcandy/pseuds/heartshapedcandy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke and Lexa and a night at the carnival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Your Eyes Are the Size of the Moon (you could 'cause you can so you do)

Clarke hears the footsteps and shuts her eyes tighter.  There is nothing subtle about their entrance, they rush up the stairs in a flurry and slam her bedroom door open.  She feels someone make a flying leap onto the end of her bed, landing on her legs and laughing loudly.  She just curls her feet closer to her body and buries her head further under the covers.  The bed dips by her head and the comforter is roughly tugged back, she cracks open one eye to find Bellamy grinning down at her, reaching out a hand to tug at her hair. 

 

“Wake up, Princess,” he says, pinching at her cheek, “We are here to rescue you from your tower.” He takes another look at her, curled under her blankets at seven o’clock at night, and gives an exaggerated sight, “Your sad, sad tower.” 

 

Clarke flinches away from his touch, the comforter slipping down further and revealing Octavia curled at her feet, tugging on her leg through the sheets. 

 

“We have the perfect plan to shake you out of your slump,” she says grinning as she crawls up the bed to settle at Clarke’s side, stroking a thumb down Clarke’s cheek sympathetically, “its genius.”

 

“And it was, consequently, my idea,” Raven says, Clarke turns her head to see her leaning in her doorway, quirking an eyebrow at her.  Further observation of her room reveals Monty and Jasper in the corner ruffling through the papers on her desk.

 

“Sick doodles, Clarke,” Jasper says, smirking as he holds up her English binder, a cluster of hearts drawn in the corner. 

 

At the same time Monty holds up her green notebook, “Can I borrow your chem notes?  These are really thorough….”

 

“What no—stop put that down,” Clarke fully sits up, jostling Octavia off of her and shoving Bellamy off the side of her bed, “How the fuck did you guys even get in here?”

 

“Your mom let us in,” Octavia says as she slips off the bed and moves to Raven in the doorway, throwing an arm around her shoulder and pressing a sloppy kiss to her cheek, “now onto Raven’s genius plan…”

 

“Right,” Bellamy says, ripping the comforter all the way back. 

 

Clarke’s eyes widen as she realizes what he is about to do, “no, no, NO,” she protests but he is scooping her up, throwing her over his shoulder, and heading out the doorway. 

 

Octavia pats Clarke’s butt playfully and Jasper and Monty follow close behind, grinning and jostling each other, Monty with Clarke’s green chem notebook clutched to his chest.  

 

“I’m not letting you down till we get there,” Bellamy says, overly pleased with himself as he hauls her away from her bed. 

 

They are half way down the stairs when Clarke bangs on Bellamy’s back with her fist, “I’m still wearing my pajamas, Bell.”

 

He spins her, laughing, and collides with Octavia.  “Let’s fix that, Princess,” he says taking the stairs back up two at a time, “We are gonna want you to look your best.”

 

* * *

 

Lexa leans against the rough wooden counter and props her chin in her hands.  She surveys the field spread out before her.  51 weeks of the year it is vacant, just tramped down yellow grass and the few stray cats that wander the lot.  But for one week in the summer it comes alive.  Barks of laughter and the pitch of hundreds of voices fill the air, slightly off key music is piped from nearly every booth, and the boom of announcers punctuate the noise, slightly louder than everything else.  It is night now, but the dark is lit by spinning lights and the bright curve of luminescent tent roofs. The Ferris Wheel towers above everything, almost comforting despite its precarious height, surely something that beautiful will never fall. 

 

Lexa hears footsteps and then feels the press of someone beside her, she glances over, immediately returning her gaze back the carnival grounds. 

 

“You know you are supposed to make people want to approach the ring toss booth, Lexa,” Anya says, almost smiling as she reaches over to retie Lexa’s red and white pinstriped apron, “you look feral.”

 

Lexa bares her teeth and pulls away from Anya’s worrying hands, “If someone is that invested in the ring toss, they won’t let the fact that I’m not smiling get in the way.” 

 

Anya glances around at the empty booth, “Obviously not.”  She matches Lexa’s blank, empty expression and leans next to her, “I’m surprised that your dad still makes you work for him here, I imagine you actually lose him money.”

 

Lexa shrugs, “You don’t really get into the carnival business because you long for monetary success.”

 

She sees a flock of teens heading over to her booth and straightens with a sigh.

 

Anya makes her exit, bumping open the swinging door to the booth with her hip, watching Lexa’s face fall even more as the kids come closer.  “Remember to smile,” she calls back and the look Lexa throws her is almost enough to make her laugh. 

* * *

 

“You must be kidding me,” Clarke turns to Raven who stands next to her, arm linked through Clarke’s, just a little bit forcefully, as though she is preventing her from bolting.  “This is your genius plan? You took me to the carnival?”

 

Raven leans into her, nodding her chin at the whir of rides and the multitude of games that stretches before them just passed the ticket booth.  “The carnival is a magical place.” Jasper snicker behind her but Raven continues, only slightly mocking, “You were gonna wither away if you spent anymore time in your room this summer.  It’s time you got out,” she gestures out at the crowds of people that surge before them, “meet some new people, play some games.” 

 

“Any maybe die on a shoddily crafted carnival ride,” Clarke cuts in, words all venom and face creasing into a frown. 

 

“And cotton candy,” Monty says energetically, resting a hand on her shoulder, “you forgot about cotton candy.” 

 

Bellamy and Octavia return from the ticket booth, tearing off equal strips of the red paper tickets for each of them.  Raven tugs Clarke past the gate, as Octavia forces the tickets into her hand.

 

 “It’s our last summer before college,” Raven says, releasing her hold on Clarke’s arm, “the crew is together for only, like, two more weeks.”  She raises her arms above her head in exaggerated joy, “There are no rules.”  Her voice is pitched louder, and she grins up at the night sky, Clarke smiles despite herself. 

 

“Except have fun,” Octavia adds in mockingly.

 

Jasper wraps an arm around Octavia’s shoulder and pulls Clarke to him in a one-armed hug.  “If you’ll excuse me, ladies,” he says squeezing them briefly, “Monty and I have a date with the whac-a-mole machine.”  He releases them from his grip as he and Monty dart out through the crowd, Clarke watching as he almost bowls over a woman with a stroller in his rush. 

 

Clarke is ready to cut in with another cynical comment and complain for her bed when a loud clatter interrupts her.  She turns toward the source of the noise, the ring toss booth, and barely sees the employee duck down behind the booth to collect whatever it is they dropped. 

 

She turns back to face her friends when Raven lets out a whoop, “I see what I want.”  She gestures toward a giant stuffed bear that hangs on display at the water gun game stand, a harried boy slumped behind the counter, trying to explain the rules of the game to a crowd of eleven year olds that screech over him every time he tries to talk.  Raven presses a hand dramatically over her heart, “Nay—I see what I need,”

 

Bellamy steps forward, practically posing as he crosses his arms over his chest.  “Don’t worry, R.  I’ll win it for you, that competition looks _weak._ ”

 

Octavia raises an eyebrow and steps forward too, hands propped on her hip, “I wouldn’t be so sure of that, bro.” She glances at Raven, “Since _I_ am going to be the one to win her that bear.” 

 

“Is that a challenge?” he says, turning toward her, leaning slightly so he towers over her. 

 

“You bet your ass it is,” Octavia says, looking him dead in the eye.

 

They storm toward the booth in tandem and Raven looks at Clarke with a cocky grin, “This should be fun,” she says, following after them. 

 

Clarke is left standing just inside the gate, she raises her hand limply.  “Okay,” she calls after her, “have fun getting overly competitive with a bunch of tweens,” her voice trails off and she watches them go.  She knows logically that she could follow them, or she could find Jasper and Monty, or any number of things.  But she is tired and grumpy, and it almost feels better to have a reason to be upset, to feel abandoned.  She mourns the loss of her bed, and feels the familiar ache that this summer has left in her stomach. 

 

She turns to watch a family make their way to the carousel, the dad hefts the little girl on top of a white horse, and she squeals with laughter.  Clarke considers, briefly, the merits of maybe riding the carousel herself, getting rid of some of her tickets, but realizes there is probably nothing sadder than a teenage girl boarding a children’s ride alone. 

 

She begins to make her away down the path that wind through the plethora of game tents and ramshackle wooden booths; she turns her eyes to the moon.  It hangs, almost full and barely visible, above the carnival.  She thinks if she rode The Ferris Wheel she might be able to touch it. 

 

Her thoughts are interrupted by a hand on her wrist, jerking her to the side.  Clarke stumbles slightly, her head still caught up in the sky and the night and not at all prepared to find a hand on her wrist, especially not a hand that belongs to someone like the girl that has a grip on her.  Clarke stares the girl straight in the face and her stomach lurches uncomfortably, falling, she is sure, somewhere down near her feet, her mouth opening as she takes her in. 

 

The first thing she notices is her eyes, wide and startled.  Her pupils are blown wide, deep and dark, observing her closely.  The curve of her cheeks pulls again at Clarke’s stomach, and when the girl glances nervously at the sky, evasive and darting, her eyes glint blue. 

 

Clarke is beyond confused, and the girl looks equally flustered which makes no sense because she is the one who grabbed _her_.  Clarke’s eyes drop to the girl’s lips, which open and close a few times before choking out, “Baby.” 

 

Clarke would be fully weirded out if her stomach wasn’t still flip-flopping and the girl’s hand wasn’t still warm against the skin of her wrist.  Before she can says anything, demand an explanation or yell or ask the girl what color she considers her eyes to be, the stranger is pulling her hand back, face red and feet almost tripping over themselves as she flits away, disappearing into the crowd.

 

Clarke squints after her, confused and ruffled, before turning her eyes again to the sky.  The moon looks further away now, and the night sky has nothing on that girl’s eyes. 

* * *

Lincoln joins Lexa at the ring toss booth almost as soon as Anya leaves.  “I heard I was needed,” he says, leaning on the counter next to her, the apron looks almost comical on his muscular form. 

 

Lexa glances over at him, exhausted and strung out from the bustling Friday night crowds.  “I can handle it on my own,” she says, straightening a rack of the rings under the counter, “You don’t need to check on me every time you think I look tired.”

 

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” Lincoln says, voice rough but face amused by her obvious annoyance, “I’m just looking out for the safety of the patrons.”

 

Lexa scoffs and turns away from him, trying to find entertainment in people watching and ignore Lincoln hovering at her side.  She turns her attention to a group of teens standing by the gates when one of them throws her arms in the air dramatically.  There are six of them, huddled close together, talking and laughing with far too much verve for Lexa to handle at this point. 

 

She continues watching as one of the boys throws his arms around a pair of girls, turning them slightly toward Lexa’s booth as he pulls them against him. 

 

One of the two gratefully accepts the hug, but the other pulls away, taking another step closer to Lexa’s booth.  At the sight of the girl, something in Lexa cracks and continues to splinter the longer she stares.  The look of her, the very shape and essence and design of her, makes Lexa tremble.  The increase of her heartbeat and the swell in her chest startles Lexa, and she puts her hands down for support, knocking an entire rack of rings to the ground.  She sees the girl begin to turn at the commotion and practically flies to the ground, ducking so fast she nearly whallops her head on one of the lower shelves. 

 

She lies there, prone, for longer than she should.  She considers just laying face down, possibly forever.  Things are uncomplicated down here.  She thinks back to 20 seconds ago, before she saw the girl.  A simpler time. 

 

She is pulled from her reverie at the feel of a foot nudging her ribs, she rolls over and cracks an eye open at Lincoln. 

 

 

He is grinning down at her, thoroughly amused, “Are you going to get up or should I get a medic?”

 

She straightens her face, regaining some of her composure despite her position on the damp ground.  “You are the medic,” she says through her teeth.

 

“Oh yeah,” he replies as he reaches down to haul her to her feet.  She stands, lightheaded, and surveys the surrounded area.  The girl is gone.  That is a blessing she supposes. 

 

Lincoln is still looking at her strangely, “Maybe you should go,” he gives her a shove toward the small, hinged booth door.  “I think they need help at the cotton candy stall.  You should probably be somewhere where you can’t hurt yourself,” he twists up one corner of his mouth, “or anyone else.”

 

She glares at him, but pushes her way out of the booth, absently pressing a hand over her chest where her heart has not completely calmed. 

 

She strides toward the cotton candy booth purposefully, clenching her jaw and trying to regain some semblance of composure.  Just two more weeks.  Two more weeks of working here and wearing this ridiculous striped apron and forcing smiles at customers.  Two more weeks and then she is gone. 

 

It is with a jolt that she sees the girl again.  Her face is tilted toward the sky and her pretty pink mouth is parted, lovely and fairy-like in the soft lights that adorn the sloped roof of the flying swings.  She is not watching where she is going, and neither is the mother of a toddler, letting go of her son’s tiny hand to reach into her purse in search of napkins to wipe smears of ice cream from his face. 

 

Lexa lunges forward then, mind clearing for an instant and allowing her to grasp the girl’s wrist, tugging her out of the toddler’s path, pulling her stumbling and confused against her. 

 

They stare at each other.  Wide mouthed and breathing hard, Lexa struggles to explain but she finds herself lost in the shape of the girl’s jaw and the freckle above her top lip.  She wonders, for just a second, what the girl saw in the sky that left her so removed, and she glances there, but sees nothing but the faded blue of almost-night and the swell of the moon. 

 

Give her an explanation, her mind reminds herself.  Explain, explain, explain.  But a red flush is tinting the girl’s cheeks and she realizes how badly she must have startled her and any sort of cognizant ability seeps into the cold of the girl’s wrist that Lexa still clings to. 

 

A baby, she thinks, you almost ran into a baby, and she opens her mouth to say those words but trips and stumbles and blunders her way into simply stuttering out the word “baby.” 

 

Oh God.  She wonders if they need a shift change at the dunk tank, because the only person who deserves that kind of punishment right now is her.  The girl is still wide-eyed and confused, her brow just beginning to furrow as Lexa pulls away quickly, her stomach tight from embarrassment and her heart thudding far too hard.  She turns and runs, slipping between the rush of people along the midway.  She thinks she left the pounding of her heart somewhere back where the girl still stands, the only sounds reaching her now is the whine of the summer heat and the bite of her nails at her palms. 

 

Oh God, she thinks again, before slowing to a walk.  She tilts her chin to look at the darkness that has emerged from the smoky blue dusk.  It is officially night time now, and there are only two weeks left of summer. 

* * *

Jasper and Monty find Clarke on a bench by The Scrambler.  They seat themselves on either side of her, jittery and grinning.  She puts the girl out of her mind and looks at them. 

 

“Having fun?” she asks. 

 

Jasper holds up a small stuffed cat proudly, and smirks at her as though she should be impressed.  “I think it should be obvious that we are having a fantastic time.”

 

Monty nods and gestures at the cat as though that should explain it all.  Clarke shuffles through her possible responses, and settles on nodding slowly and patting them both on the back, “Wow, good job guys.”

 

They grin and Jasper and swivels to look behind them.  “What say you to riding on The Scrambler, getting cotton candy, and then getting on The Scrambler _again_ ”

 

Monty nods again, “Repeat until you vomit,” he chimes in. 

 

“Oh yeah,” Jasper says reaching over Clarke for a high five, “It doesn’t count as having fun unless there is vomiting involved. 

 

Clarke stands and smiles slowly, glancing at the ride and then at the boy’s hopeful faces.   “Let’s do this,” she says. 

 

They stumble off the ride ten minutes later, Clarke’s hair a tangled mess and Jasper clutching his stomach.  Monty shakes out his arm from where Jasper crushed him against the side of the metal, bench-like seat. 

 

“I can’t feel my fingers,” he mumbles. 

 

“I wish I couldn’t feel my stomach,” Jasper groans.

 

Clarke grins cheekily, “I’m really glad I was on the end.”

 

Jasper swipes at her half heartedly before straightening, “Now we get cotton candy and do it again, if I feel gross now I can’t wait to imagine how shitty I will feel after pounds of condensed sugary goodness.”

 

Clarke pulls a face, “I’m pretty sure that isn’t something you are supposed to be looking forward to,” she shrugs, “but lead the way I guess.”

 

They flank Clarke as they walk, and Clarke almost forgets about how much she misses her bed.  She immerses herself in Jasper and Monty’s quick dialogue, all teasing jokes and playful jeers.  They try to make her laugh and look so overly pleased when they succeed that it makes her laugh harder.  There might be worst ways to spend her night, all things considered. 

 

They stand in line for the cotton candy booth, Jasper taking a break from absentmindedly hitting Monty with the stuffed cat to glance through the window of the stand.  “Oh, _damn_ ,” he says wrinkling his nose, “cotton candy girl is really hot.”

 

Monty glances at her and shakes his head, “She looks kind of scary.”

 

Jasper grins, “Dude, girls that look like they can beat you up are literally the best—”

 

Monty cuts him off smirking, “What like Octavia?”

 

Jasper ignores him and pulls on Clarke’s arm, turning her toward them from where she had been absently staring at The Ferris Wheel. 

 

“Clarke,” Jasper whines, “Settle this for us, isn’t the girl working the cotton candy, like, crazy hot?”

 

 Clarke shuffles to the side to see around the man in front of her, her eyes immediately widen and she ducks back, stomach doing an involuntary loop-de-loop.

 

“What?” Jasper asks, “Don’t tell me you think she’s scary, too.”

 

“No, it’s just—” Clarke sneaks another glance and immediately gets overwhelmed, “—I ran into her earlier, it was weird.”

 

Jasper smiles, “You are so flustered right now,” Jasper turns to Monty, “Clarke totally thinks she’s hot.  I win!”

 

Clarke shushes him with an elbow to the ribs when they get to the front of the line, trying to look nonchalant as the girl turns.  She notices Clarke with a start, eyes widening and lips parting.  Clarke would think it was funny if she wasn’t sure she was making a very similar face. 

 

Jasper steps up to the window and the girl’s face smooths, she surveys him slowly, eyes half lidded with disinterest and mouth set.  Clarke watches the transformation hungrily, the girl’s face is a character study all on its own, and the entirety of her is fascinating. 

 

“Can I have a blue one?” Jasper asks, nearly bouncing at the thought. 

 

Monty steps up behind him, “Can mine be pink?” he asks.  The girl raises her chin in acknowledgement, and turns to Clarke. 

 

She observes her carefully, expression unchanging, worlds apart from the girl that grabbed her earlier.  “What color would you like?” she asks, her voice higher then Clarke thought it would be, clear and controlled.

 

Clarke almost frowns, she is losing any semblance of the upper hand and she refuses to let this stranger one-up her.  She smiles with the just the corner of her mouth, quirking an eyebrow and stepping closer to the window, “You choose,” she says, voice huskier than she means it to be. 

 

The girl’s face flickers, and Clarke thinks she almost sees a smile, but then she is turning away, approaching the wide metal vats.  She twirls the rolled paper cones through the spun sugar that collects in the machines, her movements neat and professional, she smoothes the bundles against the inside of the machine, creating the soft rounds of cotton that are carnival staples.  

 

She hands the first stick, pink, to Monty, before approaching the second machine and making two more.  She leans far out the window, her arm outstretched.  Jasper takes his carefully, backing away as soon as it is in his hand, exchanging a childishly happy look with Monty.  Clarke reaches for hers, slipping it from the girl’s hand.  Their fingers brush, and the girl pulls back quickly.  Clarke notices the subtle clench of the girl’s jaw, and wonders what she has done to offend her. 

 

Jasper pays her, before reburying his face in the sweet sugary mass.  “Thank you,” Clarke says, since evidently neither of the boys will. 

 

The girl nods again, “Have a nice night,” she says quietly, leaning her elbows on the counter, eyes still affixed to Clarke. 

 

Clarke gives her a smile, real this time, “I hope to,” she says.  She doesn’t turn away then like she should, she just keeps watching the girl, searching for something to say, an excuse to stay.  She can’t think of anything, and after a few more seconds she turns and walks away, Jasper and Monty trailing after.  She tries to ignore the butterflies in her stomach and the feel of the girl, still watching her. 

 

Clarke, Monty, and Jasper catch up with the rest of their friends only after a third ride on The Scrambler.  No one is smiling after their last ride, all three simply clutch their stomachs and groan.  The other three don’t seem to be faring much better.  Octavia and Bellamy are glaring at each other and only Raven is happy.  She cradles the giant stuffed bear proudly.

 

Clarke gestures at it once they settle by a bench, “Spoils of war, I see.  Who ended up winning, Octavia or Bellamy?”

 

The siblings’ glares deepen, and Raven laughs.  “Neither,” she says smugly, “I ended up having to win it for myself.”

 

Jasper, Monty and Clarke all bust out laughing, “That sounds about right,” Monty says through his laugh. 

 

Jasper offers Octavia his cat with a sympathetic look, and she takes it with a small smile, rewarding him with a kiss on the cheek.

 

Bellamy bullies Monty out of his place next to Clarke on the bench and plops down next to her, “You having fun yet, Princess?”

 

She wrinkles her nose and holds up her forefinger and her thumb and inch apart, “A little bit,” she admits. 

 

He whoops and slings an arm around her, “We cheered up Clarke a minimal amount! I would call this night a success.”

 

Raven nods in agreement, “We are really the best friends a girl could have.” She settles herself on Clarke’s lap, smothering her with the giant bear.  “What’s next during our night of carnal fun?”

 

“You mean ‘carnival,’” Clarke says, voice muffled from underneath Raven and the bear. 

 

“’Oh no,” Raven says with a smile that only serves to make Clarke nervous, “I mean carnal.” 

 

Clarke groans and wriggles out from underneath her, moving to stand next to the bench.  “I came out here, I had fun, can I go home now?”

 

“Absolutely not,” Octavia says, shaking her head vehemently, “We have only been here like an hour.  We haven’t even come close to using all of our tickets yet.”

 

“Also, Clarke hasn’t even come close to meeting someone—”

 

“Raven!” Octavia chastises, but it’s too late. 

 

Clarke turns to Raven, eyes narrowed, “What do you mean ‘meet someone?’”

 

“I mean,” says Raven refusing to back down, “That its been, like, a month since Finn and you broke up. You need to move on, it’s time.”

 

“So you brought me to a carnival? That isn’t exactly the ideal social mixer for single 18 year olds.”

 

“Sure it is,” Octavia says shrugging.

 

“And there are tons of cute guys here,” Monty says helpfully.

 

“And girls,” Jasper chimes in. 

 

“I can’t believe you all,” Clarke says crossing her arms, “This is so dumb.” 

 

“It’s really not,” says Raven, “You just need to strut your stuff and people of all genders will come flocking.” 

 

“The first step might be wearing some clothes that say ‘I am a smart but sultry young lady’ and not—” Octavia looks Clarke up and down, “‘I am already resigned to a life of cat lady-hood’”

 

Clarke gapes at her, “Let me remind you that _you guys_ are the ones that dragged me here in practically just my pajamas.”

 

“We can fix this,” Raven says with a shrug, she stands up quickly and, before Clarke can stop her, pulls Clarke’s jacket off her shoulders.  This leaves her in her sleep tank top, which dips a little too low to be considered modest and shows off her arms, muscular and lean from years of lacrosse. 

 

“Raven, no.  Give that back.”  Clarke lunges for jacket, but misses as Raven tosses it to Bellamy who jumps up from the bench and takes off at a sprint. 

 

“Bell, stop!” Clarke yells, taking off after him.  He winds through the crowds agilely, and Clarke can hear him laughing. 

 

He is getting farther from the main rides and games, sprinting down an alley that seems to contain mostly storage sheds and tents marked ‘employees only.’ The rows are vacant and Clarke loses Bellamy in the dark.  It is no longer well-lit here, and she slows to a jog while hissing his name.  She ducks behind a flimsy wooden shed, built on cinder blocks, and stops to catch her breath. 

 

A sound from her left makes her jump, and she turns and peers into the dark, taking slow steps back, fists clenched.  The moon is brighter now, the stars finally out, pin points against the dark.  Clarke shivers in the summer breeze and glances again at the sky, she hears another noise from the dark next to shed and the moon doesn’t seem bright enough. 

* * *

Lexa just about faints as soon as the girl leaves the cotton candy stand.  She figures fainting would be appropriate, as any number of the things were liable to have tipped her over the edge.  Number one being the girl’s voice, closely followed by her mouth, with an extremely good fight being put up by they way the girl’s hair was mussed, brushed messily behind her ears. 

 

Luckily there is no one else in line, and she shuts down the machines, stopping the constant spit of the webs, collecting what is left with the sticks, and packaging it in clear plastic bags to be hung on display. 

 

She is startled out of a re-run of her and the girl’s conversation by Anya’s voice, addressing her as she comes in the door at the back of the stall. 

 

“Hey Lex, your shift is over.”

 

Lexa looks at Anya incredulously, “Already? I’ve barely been here.” 

 

Anya nods, “It technically wasn’t even your shift anyway, you were just standing in for Indra, she had to go help out.” Anya lowers her voice, “There was a slight mishap in the Skee ball machines, nothing major but the situation required a stern hand.”

 

Lexa nods knowingly, wiping her hands clean of any sugar residue and squeezing Anya’s arm, “Well, thanks for taking over.”

 

Anya nods, “Your dad needs you to get some more plastic ducks, though.  Little kids keep stealing them all.” 

 

Lexa rolls her eyes, “Only because Lincoln was manning that booth earlier and he never stops them, Jesus.”  She pauses to think, “They are gonna be all the way out in the storage sheds, right?”

 

Anya nods, and hurries her out of the booth as a family approaches, “Get going, the duck pond waits for no woman.”

 

Lexa rolls her eyes and unties her apron, dumping it behind the counter.  She hops out of the stall, and makes her way across the fair grounds. 

 

She loves the employee section of the fair grounds, it is the one pocket of silence in the messy noise of the carnival.  She used to hide here when she was little, trying to get out of work, curling up to nap in whatever dark corner she could find.  Lexa has worked at the carnival every summer her entire life, but she doesn’t think she is built for the chaotic slew of colors and the bright strobing lights.  The carnival defies the order that she commands in her life, it is all thrill and rush and no control and calm.

 

But Lexa doesn’t hate it, could never hate it. 

 

She rounds the corner of Supply Shed #2 and hears someone take a sharp intake of breath, she freezes and wishes she had brought a flashlight.  She turns toward the noise, clumsy and brave, as she makes her way through grass.  Lexa can just make out a figure, and takes a step forward.  The cloud covering the moon dissipates, and in the new haze of light, Lexa sees who it is. 

 

Her heart stops, for a second maybe three, and then she is striding out of the shadows, registering surprise and maybe a little bit of fear on the girl’s face as she hisses, “What are you doing here?”

 

The girl is surprised to see her, but there is relief there as well, she relaxes at the words, even though they were said with no warmth.  She takes a shaky step towards Lexa and away from the shadows that cling to the shed.  “I got lost,” she says, voice unapologetic and unembarrassed, “I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to be here.”

 

Lexa surveys her, noticing her jacket is gone, her hands hug at her arms, nervous or cold Lexa can’t tell. 

 

Lexa tries to think of something to say, fails, and tries again.  No one has reduced her to opening and closing her mouth like a fish quite like this girl. 

 

“Yeah well,” she finally says, “You’re not.” 

 

She considers the validity of punching herself in the face.  Lexa is an extraordinary public speaker, and a skilled writer, but apparently that is all worth nothing in the face of this tiny blonde girl. 

 

“Sorry,” the girl says, her hands rubbing up her arms now, “I didn’t mean to…” she trails off. 

 

Lexa watches her for another long second before tugging her sweatshirt off, holding it out to the girl, “Here,” she says, “You’re cold.”

 

The girl accepts it slowly, before smiling and pulling it over her head.  It is just a little big on her, and the sleeves cover her hands, her hair is even messier now and Lexa chances a smile back.

 

“So this is like the third time we have run into each other,” the girl says, snuggling deeper into the sweatshirt, “Do I get to know your name?”

 

“Lexa,” she says, brain still slightly stalled at the sight of the girl in her sweatshirt.

 

“I’m Clarke,” she says and Lexa swallows hard. Clarke.  Clarke in her sweatshirt.  Clarke smiling at her.  Clarke.  Clarke  Clarke. 

 

“Now do I get an explanation for your first word to me being ‘baby’ or do I just have to puzzle that one out for the rest of my life.” 

 

Lexa flushes red again, remembering, and clears her throat.  “You were about to run into a toddler, that’s why I grabbed you, I’m sorry.”

 

Clarke laughs lowly and Lexa bites down on her tongue to stop herself from doing something even more embarrassing.  “You’re a regular hero,” Clarke says. 

 

Lexa steps forward, closer now, reaching out a hand to tuck the sweatshirt tag back under Clarke’s collar.  “Someone has to do it,” she says, trying for a joking tone, but falling flat because they are so very close and Clarke’s eyes are so very blue. 

 

“My friends tell me I need to meet someone,” Clarke blurts, suddenly and all in a rush.  It is her turn to look embarrassed, face flushing and eyes turning down at the ground briefly before looking back up to meet Lexa’s eyes.  She tries again. “I just mean, they have been on me to talk to someone new, get out of my comfort zone, and now I have, so I have something I can tell them.  So.  Thank you.”

 

Lexa is shuffles another half step forward and Clarke doesn’t back away, just looks at her.  “Anytime,” she says. 

 

Clarke tugs at the sleeves of Lexa’s jacket and sighs, “Now you have done three things for me, four if you count the cotton candy, and I haven’t done anything for you in return.” 

 

“Well, technically the cotton candy was just my job—” Lexa starts, but she is cut off when Clarke leans forward, pressing their lips together, soft and chaste.  Lexa doesn’t even have time to close her eyes before Clarke pulls back. 

 

“Thank you,” she whispers again, and then she is turning and breaking into a run, rounding the corner of the shed before Lexa can say anything.  Lexa stares at the space that Clarke just occupied seconds before, her heart swoops in her chest and her lips taste like summer. 

* * *

Clarke slows when she reaches the lights.  The hush and quiet and dark disappear behind her, replaced by the crush and sway of the crowd.  She still hasn’t caught her breath. She wanders back to the bench staked out by her friends, unbelieving that no more than ten minutes have passed when everything around her feels changed. 

 

She is breathless and aching, half impressed by her own daring and half ashamed.  She wonders if that kiss was hers to take.  She thinks of Lexa’s face, open and awed in the moonlight, and her stomach turns again.  She buries her nose in the collar of the sweatshirt, it is warm and smells like funnel cake and grass.  She tugs it tighter around her and approaches her friends, trying on a scowl that doesn’t quite fit, her mouth keeps slipping into a smile.    

 

Bellamy is back, leaning against the side of the bench, flashing his teeth at her and leaning in, “Couldn’t keep up huh, Princess?”

 

Clarke narrows her eyes and scoffs, “Whatever.”

 

Octavia is the one who notices first, picking herself up from her perch on Raven’s legs and moving to pull at Clarke’s sleeve.  “Since when do you go to NYU, Clarke?”

 

“What?” Clarke glances down, seeing the sweatshirt under the light for the first time.  She pulls it away from her body, studying it with new eyes. 

 

It is a bold purple, dropping down just below the hem of her shorts, and stenciled in white letters is “NYU” complete with the insignia underneath.  She traces the word with her fingers, absorbing the soft fabric while her mind hums with this new information about the girl.  Lexa.  This new information about Lexa. 

 

“A girl gave it to me,” Clarke blurts, still distracted as she traces over the letters.  She looks up, catching Octavia’s confused glance.  “I mean, a girl thought I looked cold and…”

 

“She just gave you her sweatshirt?” Raven asks, face screwed up in disbelief. 

 

“Let me borrow,” Clarke corrects absently, “she let me borrow her sweatshirt.”

 

“Was she cute?” Jasper asks and Octavia huffs a laugh. 

 

“You can always count on Jas to ask the important questions,” Octavia says still smiling at him and then turning to Clarke her mouth dropping into a stern line, “But yeah, seriously, was she cute?”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes and shoves Octavia away from her, “Whatever,” she mumbles again. 

 

Bellamy claps and leans forward to tug at Raven’s ponytail, “It worked,” he crows, overly triumphant, “We led Clarke to cute girls.”

 

“You are the dumbest friends anyone has ever had,” Clarke says, but she is tucking her chin into the collar of the sweatshirt to hide her smile and Octavia is enveloping her in a hug from behind while Bellamy raises his hand in a victorious fist pump. 

 

“Let’s just ride some more goddamn rides,” Clarke says voice muffled, she squirms out of Octavia’s grip.

 

Raven wrenches Octavia away from Clarke, pulling her against her own body instead.  She rocks from side to side, hands locked around Octavia’s waist, as she grins at Clarke.  “Even if they kill you?”

 

“Especially then,” Clarke says with an exasperated sigh, “I don’t know how much longer I can take you guys.”

 

They stumble away from the bench, all six leaning on each other, laughing a little too loud at stupid things, their noise complimenting the carnival’s chaos.  Clarke looks at the Ferris Wheel, towering and perfect, and nestles further into the warmth of the sweatshirt.

 

Clarke shakes her head at Bellamy after their first go on the teetering rollercoaster.  “Nuh uh,” she says vehemently, “I changed my mind, I’m not ready to die yet.  Tempting fate once was fun, but you couldn’t pay me to go on that thing twice.” 

 

Bellamy pinches her cheek lightly and turns to the group, “Forget about the Princess then, who else wants to go again?”

 

The rest of them cheer, and pile back in line, Monty giving Clarke a sympathetic pat on the shoulder as he passes her.  Clarke wanders away a bit, looking for a place to sit while she waits.  She is jarred out of her daydreaming for the second time that night by a hand on her wrist.  It tugs her out of the push of the crowd, into the dark space against the side of the bumper car’s house and the back of the tent that houses the kiddie-pool-turned-duck-pond. 

 

Clarke allows her eyes to adjust in the shadows of the almost quiet, knowing who she will find when they do.  Lexa is looking down at her, hands moved from her wrist to her waist, pushing her against the side of the wooden building.  Her grip is light enough that Clarke could easily pull away, but she finds she doesn’t want to, leaning further into the touch as she watches Lexa’s eyes flicker from her eyes to her mouth and back again. 

 

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” Clarke says, biting her lip so she can watch Lexa stare at her as she does. 

 

Lexa leans in further, hands warm through the sweatshirt, fingers pressing lightly.  “I just really like you in my sweatshirt,” she says, honest and clear, not stumbling like she did before. 

 

Clarke tilts her head up, noses nearly touching.  “Sounds like you finally found your voice,” she says, breath hitching as Lexa brushes their noses together, thumbing at the sharp angle of Clarke’s hip. 

 

Lexa shrugs, pushing her hips against Clarke’s and pinning her against the wall, “I guess I did,” she says in words that Clarke feels rather then hears as she brushes their mouths together, once, twice, teasing and slow and barely there. 

 

 

It is Clarke that breaks first, surging up on her toes to fully press their mouths together, enjoying the way Lexa’s grip tightens and she presses in harder, any space eliminated as Clarke frees her hands to wind them in Lexa’s hair. 

 

They kiss slow and neat, all closed mouth nudges and light nibbles that make Clarke hum at the back of her throat.  Lexa delights in the noise, lips turning up against Clarke’s mouth, biting down harder at her lower lip to draw it out again.  Her fingers ease under the hem of the sweatshirt, tracing patterns against Clarke’s side, careful and patient. 

 

Clarke scratches her fingers at Lexa’s scalp, drawing her back so she can smooth a kiss at the corner of her mouth and again at the apple of her cheek. 

 

“Do you do this often?” Lexa murmurs, eyes tightly closed, tilting her face closer to Clarke’s touch. 

 

“You know,” Clarke says between the kisses she presses gently on Lexa’s eyelids, “Only when cute girls stare at me and give me their sweatshirts and stuff,” she drops another kiss on Lexa’s lips, “so yeah, all the time.”

 

Lexa moves her head to catch Clarke’s mouth again, kissing her a little harder, hips pressing Clarke more insistently against the wall.  Clarke can feel Lexa break into a smile against her mouth, and she pulls back, smiling too despite herself.

 

“What?” she asks, studying the way that Lexa’s smile looks in the dark, secret and subtle, just for her. 

 

“You called me cute,” Lexa says and then she is kissing her again. 

 

The hiss of brakes and the swell of noise reminds Clarke of where she is and she jars back, Lexa is startled by the absence of her warmth against her, and it takes her a second to open her eyes.  She takes in Clarke’s expression and steps back, pulling her hands from Clarke’s hips. 

 

“Shit,” Clarke says, “my friends will be wondering where I am.” 

 

Lexa, still slightly dazed and eyes half-lidded, nods vacantly, her stomach dropping as Clarke pushes off the wall to rush off.  Again.  But she turns before she gets far, darting back to press a quick kiss against Lexa’s bottom lip, “I’ll find you in a bit,” she promises before rushing back into the crowds. 

 

Lexa can’t think of any clever reply, just stares after her, biting her lip into her mouth and heaving out a sigh. 

 

* * *

 

Lexa begins to make her way back to the cotton candy booth, she doesn’t technically have somewhere she needs to be right now, and until one of the higher ranking management employees realizes she is without an assignment, she is going to keep it that way.  Anya will let her hide out with her, maybe Clarke will come back for more cotton candy.

 

She hates how much she wants to see her again, she still feels the press of Clarke against her and moves a hand to her chest, making sure her heart is still functioning.   The Ferris Wheel begins another rotation above her, lights flashing around the inner rim, bright and ethereal against the dark sky. 

 

Lexa glances around, making sure her dad hasn’t decided to come check on her.  She doesn’t see him, but she does see a little boy, about two, sitting alone outside the carousel gates.  He isn’t crying, just stares a little panicky and wide-eyed at his surroundings, his hand clenching at the grass, pulling up handfuls, caking his palms with mud.   Lexa glances around for his mom or dad or sibling, but sees no one, just more families boarding the ride, oblivious to the little boy. 

 

She approaches him slowly, still glancing around to see if someone is going to rescue her from having to do this.  No one does, and she crouches beside him, waiting for him to look at her.  He does eventually, mouth opening as he stares, she tries a smile, hoping it comes out less like the grimace it feels like. 

 

His face doesn’t change, but his hands still in the grass and he continues to look at her.  Lexa looks around again, but no one has taken notice of them.  She looks back at him, holds his gaze, feeling increasingly more uncomfortable by the second.  After one last check to make sure no one is looking, she pulls a face, contorting her mouth and sticking out her tongue.  He smiles, and then laughs, holding out one of his mud slicked palms.  She takes it, and tries smiling again. 

 

“Do you know where your mom or dad is?” she says, looking at him carefully.  He shakes his head.  “Do you want to go find them?” she asks.  He nods, still quiet but eyes calmer now.  “Okay,” she sighs, standing back up.  He lifts his arms and she takes that as permission to swing him onto her hip, resting one hand under his butt while his arm curls over her shoulder.  She bounces him slightly, until he is full on grinning, gaps between his teeth that are cuter than it should be. 

 

“I’m going to take you to the medic tent, okay?” she says, feeling foolish but also strangely like she should keep him informed, “that’s where we tell parents to find their kids if they are separated.” She pauses, “Okay?” she asks nodding exaggeratedly.

 

He mimics her, nodding as well, “Okay,” he says voice small, reaching a hand up to smear mud down her cheek. 

 

“Oh, wow, thank you,” she says, grinning despite herself as she begins walking away from the carousal, “that is exactly what I was wanting.”

She winds through the crowds, tilting her ear toward him as he grips her tighter and starts to babble.  Telling her, in excited, blurred words, all about the horse that he was going to ride.  She nods and smiles at him, hefting him more comfortably against her hip as they walk. 

 

Lexa is tilting her head toward him, trying to make some sense of his rush of words, when she sees her. Clarke.  She is back with her friends and they are standing in line for Kettle Corn.  Lexa turns her head away and hopes desperately that she doesn’t see her, she is embarrassed somehow, this isn’t how she wants Clarke to see her.  Lexa figures she might have a chance if she keeps up her image of the mysterious carnie girl.  The image becomes much less alluring if she is spotted mud smeared and flustered, a baby propped on her hip. 

 

But when she glances back reflexively, she sees that Clarke has spotted her.  Lexa can see her furrowed brow, even across the expanse of the walk way, and she freezes, feeling caught and embarrassed.  She turns her head away and practically sprints off, the little boy laughing and tangling his hands in her hair, excited by the increase in speed.  He yells something that sounds very similar to “Horsey!” and Lexa is sure she would find it almost cute if she wasn’t cursing her luck as well as her inability to make good first impressions. 

 

Or any sort of favorable impression, apparently. 

 

She swears that after she drops off this baby she is never smiling again. Nothing good comes out of feelings. 

 

The medic tent is set up at the intersection housing the balloon and dart booth and the shooting gallery, a strategic maneuver.  The stripes are red and white, making it stand out next to the variety of rainbow tents.  Lexa pushes through the flap quickly, relieved to see Nyko fitting a new cartridge into an inhaler. 

 

He nods at Lexa and holds up the inhaler, “A girl got too excited on the Viking boat,” he looks Lexa up and down and gestures to the little boy “Whose this?”

 

Lexa sits on one of the fold out chairs, shifting the boy off her hip and curling her arms around him as he settles into her lap. 

 

“I found him by the carousel, his parents were gone, I figure they will come looking for him,” Lexa tickles at his stomach despite herself, holding back a smile as he giggles. 

 

Nyko studies her before stepping closer, “Well, you can leave him here,” he offer a finger to the toddler, “I’ll radio out an announcement about him.”

 

Lexa catches the little boy up under his armpits as she stands, handing him to the Nyko.  “Okay,” she says nodding decisively, “Good Luck.” 

 

She starts to walk out of the tent, but the little boy cries out “Horsey!” despairingly.  She turns slightly and waves, watching as he mimics her, waving back. 

 

She leaves the tent feeling emptier then before, almost cold without her sweatshirt.  She thinks about Clarke and hates the warmth that spreads through her as she remembers the kisses that were pressed to her face, the give of Clarke’s warmth underneath her hands.  She misses her and she hates herself for it. 

 

She circles back to where she last saw Clarke, insisting it’s only because she needs to get her sweatshirt back eventually, and it might as well be before the girl heads back to life outside the carnival gates. 

 

She can’t find her in the crowd but glimpses, out of the corner of her eye, a flash of blonde disappearing into the fun house.  She considers leaving, returning to the cotton candy stand, talking with Anya until closing and then returning to her trailer.  Clarke will go back the real world with Lexa’s sweatshirt and memories of kissing a carnival worker who kissed her back.  

 

She gets as far as taking two stumbling steps toward the stand when she realizes that not seeing Clarke again might kill her, she figures one last kiss can’t be a bad idea.  Lexa strides into the building purposefully.  The boy working at the gate doesn’t stop her, figuring she has been called on to fix a faulty light or clean up a kid’s vomit. 

 

Lexa knows this amusement like the back of her hand, it hasn’t been changed in at least a decade.  The same garish interior colors coat the walls and the same puke-inducing swaying tunnel makes this one of the least desirable clean-up jobs in the whole carnival.  Lexa has been assigned it many times, usually as punishment for sneaking away from her duties, a lot like what she is doing tonight. 

 

Clarke spots her before Lexa sees her, which would be embarrassing if her mind didn’t empty of all rational thought as soon as she hears Clarke whisper her name.  She is lagging behind the rest of her friends and when she sees Lexa she sneaks away entirely, shuffling back through the multicolored hanging nets and cushy beams that line the room. 

 

Lexa eyes her seriously, outstretching a hand, “Do you want to get out of here?” she asks, low and quiet.

 

Clarke checks behind her, her friends haven’t noticed she is gone yet, “They’ll see us,” she hisses.  They both know that they don’t necessarily have to keep this a secret, but something about it makes it more fun, like everything they do is just for them and for no one else. 

 

“Not necessarily,” Lexa says, allowing herself a smug smile.  She pulls aside one of the hanging nets to reveal a small door, “I know all the short cuts.”

 

Clarke glances at her friends’ backs one more time before grinning and taking Lexa’s hand, allowing herself to be pulled through the door, the net swinging closed behind them. 

 

The passage takes them out into the multicolored Zig-Zag stairs, they criss cross the entire room, leading to different levels, sometimes spitting you out to places you have already been.  The room is empty, but echoes of voices can be heard bouncing around other hallways. 

 

Lexa is still leading Clarke who is giggling and excited now, she finds herself joining in too, laughing as she pulls her up the bright red flight that curves along the corner of the room.  Clarke’s foot catches on a step and she falls, pulling Lexa along with her.  Lexa knows she probably could have caught herself, but she lets herself fall onto Clarke, hands finding their place on either side of her shoulders and head buried in her neck.  She sucks a kiss onto Clarke’s collarbone and feels the girl’s giggles slow, her hands moving to clutch at Lexa’s back. 

 

But then Clarke is shoving Lexa back on the steps, scrambling out from underneath her and sprinting up the flight.  “You’re gonna have to work for it!” she yells from the top of the stairs before spinning through the doorway.  Lexa stares after her for a beat before taking off up the stairs after her. 

 

The doorway leads into the hall of mirrors, which makes finding Clarke a thousand times more difficult as Lexa’s own reflection startles her at every turn.  Lexa calls Clarke’s name softly, ignoring the eerie echo of herself projected on every surface. 

 

Lexa turns the corner to find Clarke waiting for her.  She stands on tip toe, winding her arms around Lexa’s neck and pressing them flush against each other from bellies to breasts. 

 

“That was really hard work,” Lexa murmurs, wrapping her arms around Clarke’s waist in return. 

 

“Maybe I don’t feel like waiting anymore,” Clarke says, tilting their foreheads together as she talks.

 

Lexa swallows hard and tries to not let the shocks of her madly beating heart show on her face.  “I didn’t realize you had been waiting that long, Clarke,” Lexa says, closing her eyes despite herself. 

 

“I kind of feel like I have been waiting forever,” Clarke says, and Lexa’s breath fully stops, and she opens her eyes to take in the wide, honest blue of Clarke’s eyes and the open curve of her pretty pink mouth. 

 

And Lexa knows it is crazy cheesy, and those aren’t the kind of lines that should get her this bad but _Clarke_ and so she is leaning in and kissing her, closing her eyes as Clarke slips her tongue into her mouth, warm and welcome and making Lexa so dizzy that she wonders if her feet are even still rooted to the ground.  She opens her eyes, for just a second as Clarke fully presses their tongues together, and she sees them, pressed in a tight embrace, reflected in thousands of fragments on the walls, stretching on for infinity and infinity and infinity.  Lexa remembers how to breathe. 

* * *

Clarke pulls away first, breathing hard and half-worried that her friends will stumble around the corner at any moment.  “We should go—" she says at the same time that Lexa starts to say something, they both stop abruptly and Clarke takes a step back from Lexa and gestures for her to talk. 

 

Despite her newly swollen-from-kisses lips and the mess of curls that her hair has become, Lexa still manages to look almost regal as she resumes her impassive mask, “Would you like to go get a funnel cake with me, Clarke?” she asks.  Clarke bursts out laughing and immediately places her hand on Lexa’s arm at her slightly affronted expression. 

 

“No Lexa, wait,” Clarke says through her laugh, “Of course I do.  Of course.  Yes. It’s just that I didn’t know it was possible to be so formal when asking someone if they want funnel cake.”

 

Lexa’s face flickers to amused for a second for resuming her neutral expression, made more intimidating by the haughty arc of her cheekbones.  “We take funnel cake very seriously here, Clarke.  I’m going to need you to respect that.”  She leads a still laughing Clarke out of the maze of mirror and down only one more slowly shrinking hall before they burst back out into the night. 

 

They both blink at their sudden emergence back into noise and sparkling light.  Lexa moves to pull her hand away, but Clarke doesn’t let her, entwining their fingers and they walk, bumping her hip against Lexa’s to draw out a smile. 

 

They are seated at a wooden picnic table ten minutes later, Clarke’s fingers sticky with powdered sugar as she pulls pieces of the dough, still hot with grease, off the doubled up paper plates.  Lexa watches her, chin propped in her hand, opening her mouth ever so often so Clarke can feed her a piece.  She has powdered sugar smeared on her chin and a lazy droop to her shoulders that makes Clarke like her even more.  She is careful not to get any of the sticky paste on Lexa’s sweatshirt that she still wears, she worms her way into it further as she eats, content and almost full. 

 

“You didn’t even have to pay for this,” Clarke says suddenly, lavishing in the way that Lexa blinks slowly at her before answering. 

 

“My dad owns the carnival, so I guess it would have been a little pointless.  Plus I work her, so I eat from the vendors for free.” 

 

Clarke raises her eyebrows, “Your dad owns the carnival? That makes you like—” she stares at the sky as she searches for a word, “—carnival royalty.  You are a carnival princess.” 

 

Lexa smiles slowly and accepts another piece of cake from Clarke’s hand, “What about you, Clarke? Are you worthy of courting a princess?”

 

Clarke snorts.  “Hardly.  But some of my friends do call me Princess. I guess it’s their way of mocking me for being bossy or neat or I don’t know.”

 

Lexa studies her, “I’m sure that’s not why,” she says, “You all seem very close.”

 

Clarke nods as she looks down at the plate, “We are.  They are always looking out for me, to the point of being overly nosy.  I mean, it’s them who dragged me here.  To get my mind off Finn, I guess.”  Her voice trails off here, and her eyes shoot up to Lexa, nervous and suddenly gun shy, afraid she has shared too much. 

 

Lexa simply leans further into her palm, arching an eyebrow.  “Finn?”

 

“My ex,” Clarke says swallowing.  “We broke up a few weeks ago. Because we are going to different colleges I guess and because,” she pauses further, avoiding Lexa’s eyes, “we just didn’t work well.  Not long term.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Lexa says.

 

Clarke shrugs, “I didn’t mean to talk about it, I would rather just be here with you.”

 

Lexa smiles at that, “What college are you going to next year? I assume you are going to be a freshman.”

 

“Yeah,” Clarke says, “Uh, I got into Yale.  I leave in a week.”

 

Lexa looks impressed but “You must be a nerd,” is what she says. 

 

Clarke laughs, “I just study too hard,” she glances down at the sweatshirt, “So do you really go to NYU?”

 

Lexa leans back from the table, hands falling to grip the bench at her sides, face shifting to hurt for a second, “Why, does that surprise you?”

 

Clarke reaches across the table, chasing at Lexa’s retreating hands.  “No, Lexa, not at all.  I just didn’t know if it was yours.”

 

Lexa relaxes, and she allows Clarke to take her hand.  “Yeah, I do.  I’m going to be a sophomore actually.” 

 

Clarke smirks, “Oh, an older girl, huh?”

 

Lexa flicks her hand, “Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”

 

“When do you leave?” Clarke asks, clarifying at Lexa’s confused glance, “The carnival, I mean.  To go back to school.”

 

“We pack up this site tomorrow, actually” Lexa says, “And then we have one more town and then…” she waves her hand in the air vaguely, “Its back the real world.”

 

But Clarke stalled earlier in the sentence, “Tomorrow?” she hushes, “You leave tomorrow?”

 

“Well yeah,” Lexa says, “We have been here a week, Clarke.” 

 

“But I only just met you.”

 

Lexa clenches her jaw, “I know,” she says, “It isn’t fair.” 

 

Clarke shakes her head quickly, willing the thoughts out of her mind.  “Where do you stay while you are here?”

 

Lexa gestures out into the fairgrounds, in the direction of the employee section.  “Some people, like my dad, rent motel rooms, but most season long workers like to stay in tents or--.”

 

“Do you?” Clarke asks, eyes wide at the fairytale of it all, “Do you stay in a tent?”

 

Lexa’s lips quirk up at Clarke’s enchanted expression.  “I was finishing with trailer,” she says grinning, “my dad and I share a trailer, but in most towns, like this one, he stays in a hotel room anyway.”

 

“Can I see it?” Clarke asks, coy and teasing, leaning further across the table.

 

“Are you trying to get into my trailer, Clarke?” Lexa says amused.

 

“Yeah,” Clarke says, voice huskier now, “Yeah, I think I am.” 

 

The walk to her trailer is fast and silent, hands swinging between them, Lexa glancing at Clarke out of the corner of her eye too often to be anything by nervous.  Clarke rubs her thumb over the back of her hand, mapping comfort and desire that makes Lexa’s steps speed up. 

 

They reach her trailer in the dark, the rest of the employee section will be empty until closing time.  Clarke gets impatient somewhere around the storage sheds, and starts walking Lexa backwards, pressing kisses against her mouth every few steps. 

 

They barge through the trailer door in a flurry, Lexa flicking on a small bedside light before Clarke has her pressed on the bed that dominates one end of the small trailer.  She doesn’t give Lexa time to breathe, lapping into her mouth, subduing Lexa beneath her with a bite to her bottom lip.  She urges Lexa’s legs apart, settling between them, hands hovering at the hem of Lexa’s shirt, her kisses urgent and reckless.

 

Lexa tastes like funnel cake and Clarke licks up the smear of powdered sugar from her chin, moving to bite at Lexa’s collarbone until she writhes beneath her, impatient as she moves Clarke’s hands under her shirt, desperate and demanding. 

 

Everything feels close and bright, like there has never been anything more beautiful then this foldout trailer bed and the girl squirming beneath her.  Clarke knows there isn’t exactly a lot of time, her friends will wonder about her soon, regardless of the reassuring text she sent them, and the carnival will close and Lexa will leave but she is here now.  Lexa is _so_ here, breathing out Clarke’s name over and over as her hands move to stroke over her chest. 

 

Clarke kisses up her jaw, soft and careful in contrast to her hands that are messy and excited, drawing moans and murmurs from Lexa’s giving mouth. 

 

“Lexa, can I?” she asks, and her hand is hovering over the button on Lexa’s jeans, her stomach turning and unbelieving that she is here and this is happening and Lexa is gasping “yes, yes, yes,” and arching her hips. 

 

Clarke thumbs open the button to her pants, hand stalling.  Clarke finds herself nervous and roiling, unsure of the right way to precede.  Lexa works herself up on her forearms, eyes half-lidded and shirt pushed up messily.  She looks at Clarke, curious and worried, and clears her throat.  “Is everything okay, Clarke?” she moves to pull her shirt down, “We can stop, we don’t need to—”

 

Clarke stops Lexa’s hand and holds on to it, “No, I want to.  I just want to do this right and I don’t know how…” she trails off, embarrassed and flushed.  Lexa pushes up further on her arms to press a sloppy kiss to Clarke’s lips.

 

“I can show you?” she says, voice tilted and excited as she scoots further back on the bed, urging Clarke further on top of her.  Clarke finds herself nodding, breathless and aching, watching Lexa’s mouth twist into a small smile as she pops the button on Clarke’s shorts, easing them down Clarke’s legs until Clarke is lifting her hips off of Lexa so she can kick them off. 

 

Lexa guides Clarke’s head down to kiss her again as she slips a hand under the waistband of Clarke’s underwear.  She pauses at the soft skin just underneath the band, giving Clarke a chance to pull back before she moves to stroke between Clarke’s legs slowly.  Clarke’s mouth drops open and she is gasping into Lexa’s mouth, whining louder as Lexa presses her thumb against Clarke’s clit, movements becoming firmer and more confident as Clarke’s hips rut sloppily against Lexa’s hand.  Lexa’s fingers are too much and not enough all at once, stroking in rough circles against Clarke with one hand, the other coming up to tangle in Clarke’s hair insistently.  Lexa presses with her thumb again before biting at Clarke’s neck, scraping against her pulse point, igniting the very quick of her.  Clarke comes at the feel of Lexa’s teeth, collapsing on top of Lexa after she frees her hands from between them. 

 

She pulls back to see Lexa smiling, smug and pleased with herself, as Clarke just groans out a “Holy Shit,” that makes Lexa smile bigger. 

 

Clarke kisses her, rough and certain, wiping the smirk off Lexa’s face.  Her hands return to the hem of Lexa’s pants and this time she presses confidently inside to cup Lexa’s center, feeling the wet slick of her with a kind of satisfaction that quickens her heartbeat and tugs deep in her stomach. 

 

Lexa is whispering her name again, reverent and dazed, and Clarke presses against her more firmly so she can hear her say it again.

* * *

Lexa is entirely entranced by the feel of her.  Clarke still lays half on top of her, body languid and loose, hand tracing the flat muscle of Lexa’s stomach absently, eyes closed and breathing slow.  Her hand that isn’t caressing Lexa is curled in the blankets of the bed, her bare thigh fits between Lexa’s legs.  Lexa wraps her arm around Clarke’s waist more firmly, tilting her head down to press a kiss into her hair. 

 

Clarke stretches sleepily, rolling off of Lexa and sitting up at the edge of the bed.  She runs her hands through her hair, which only serves to muss it further.  Lexa watches her get up and pull on her shorts, straightening her shirt and sweatshirt before turning to face Lexa who is still reclined on the bed. 

 

Lexa’s stomach feels tight in anticipation of the inevitable end result, and she sits up too, deciding to just rip off the band aid. 

 

“So if this is the part where you go back to your friends and I promise not to bother you then I—”

 

Clarke shakes her head firmly, giving Lexa a strange look as she cuts her off, “I was actually thinking this was the part where we ride the Ferris Wheel, but that’s just me.”

 

Lexa gets up and moves to where Clarke stands in half a stride.  She kisses Clarke firmly, sighing into her open mouth, happy and dazed and falling. 

 

The line for the Ferris Wheel doesn’t feel long at all.  Clarke shoots another text to her friends promising to meet them by the gate in half an hour and her and Lexa spend the rest of the time talking as the lean against each other, almost unsteady in their attempts to fit in as much publicly acceptable contact as possible.  Lexa catches Clarke up against her, fitting her chin on top of Clarke’s head. 

 

“You’re short,” she mumbles, provoking Clarke to pinch at her side until Lexa takes it back.  Lexa refuses and their fight borders dangerously on a full out tickle war.  Before it can fully escalate the carnival employee is ushering them into the Ferris Wheel car, eyes glazed and drooping from a long shift. 

 

The car begins its slow ascent upward and Clarke leans just a little too far out over the edge, marveling at the view, reveling in being above the glimmer of the carnival lights.  Lexa knows better then to try to stop her, just leans back against the seat, watching Clarke’s face as it shifts with each new wonder she finds on the ground. 

 

When Lexa and Clarke’s car reaches the crest of the ride it grinds to a halt.  Lexa recognizes the feel and rolls her eyes, exasperated and a little embarrassed.  Clarke turns to her, brow furrowed and nearly nervous. 

 

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

 

“It’s stuck,” Lexa says with a sigh, she peers over the edge finding familiar forms beneath.  “Don’t worry, Gustus will fix it in literally five minutes, this happens all the time.”

 

Clarke settles back, and turns her face to the stars.  She glances at Lexa quickly, “There are way worse places to be stuck.”

 

She leans in and kisses Lexa once, short and sweet, before turning to the sky again.  Lexa mirrors her, eyes seeking out the moon that hangs impossibly bright in the sky above them.  Lexa is nearly certain that if she reached out her hand she could touch it. 

* * *

The walk back to the gate is painful.  Clarke finds herself actually physically dragging her feet, she grips Lexa’s hand so hard she figures it is a testament to the girl’s strength that she isn’t complaining. 

 

They pass the carousel and the ring toss booth.  Clarke only sees Lexa smile once the entire walk when she sees a little boy with a gap toothed smile held tightly by his parents.  Clarke swears that she sees Lexa wave. 

 

She means to ask her about it, but anything but the dread of leaving flees her as soon as she sees her friends lazing on a bench about twenty feet away.  She pulls Lexa to a stop, and they turn to face each other.  She glances behind Lexa at her friends just once and immediately regrets it. 

 

Raven has an extremely self-satisfied smirk plastered on her face, Bellamy is flashing her a thumbs up, Octavia is eyeing Lexa admiringly, and Jasper is mouthing ‘cotton candy girl?’ at Monty in shock. 

 

“So you have my number and all that?” Clarke says, tugging at Lexa’s hands.

 

Lexa squeezes her fingers gently, “For the thousandth time, Clarke, it is in my phone.  I promise I will text you.”

 

Clarke reaches for the hem of the sweatshirt, moving to pull it over her head, but Lexa stops her. 

 

“Keep it for now,” she says softly, reaching up a hand to cup at her cheek, “It will give me an excuse to see you soon.  New York gets cold in the fall, you know.  I might need it.” 

 

Clarke nods, her chest tight, her stomach all in a panic.  She leans into Lexa’s touch, eyes darting to her mouth and checking Lexa’s eyes for confirmation.  Lexa leans down, kissing her right there in the square.  It is, Clarke realizes through the haze of the kiss, the first time they have kissed under the carnival lights, not above them and not in the shadows.  Instead they are fully lit, bright and open and shining, the press of Lexa’s mouth enough to ensure reality. 

 

The kiss ends but they stay pressed together, foreheads touching and hands clasped.  “The carnival really is a magical place,” Clarke murmurs and Lexa attempts a neutral expression but just ends up kissing her again. 

 

* * *

 

(On Sunday morning the field is empty and quiet.  There is one week and five days left of summer and the carnival is gone.) 

 

(On Monday morning the field is still empty and quiet, but stray cats begin to reclaim their lost territory and a strong wind turns up a small stuffed bear that a little boy dropped in the grass.  There is one week and four days left of summer and Clarke gets a text message that just reads ‘baby’ and she buries her face into the sweatshirt next to her pillow and smiles.)  


End file.
